


The unknown dismay (Part I)

by Foreverwriting123



Series: Batman X Reader Series [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Angst, Clark is a whiny brat, F/M, Not as much fluff as other fics, drunk, restaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7067095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreverwriting123/pseuds/Foreverwriting123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Please Y/N. I know Bruce Wayne. He is not who he says he is. You need to stop this now, otherwise it will end badly.”</i><br/> <br/><i>You reply quietly through gritted teeth. “Get your hand off of me Clark.”</i></p><p>  <i>He doesn’t oblige, still holding on, continuing his testament.</i></p><p>  <i>"You’re going to get hurt Y/N and in ways that even I won’t be able to help you. You need to stop this before it gets out of hand. Just please don’t go tonight, it will end badly. Just go home and tell him it’s over. Don’t ever see him again. You don’t deserve him and the trouble that surrounds him.”</i></p><p> </p><p>What seems like a night to remember turns out to be a night you want to forget as Bruce Wayne leads you to questioning whether you should stay with the man of your dreams as he leads you to a nightmare realm.</p><p>With many people warning you of his ways, you begin to question whether Bruce has dark secrets and are you ready to learn the truth once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The unknown dismay (Part I)

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! I'm finally finished my exams which is great, it means more time to write!  
> I do want to say thank you all so much for all the lovely supportive comments,honestly they mean the world to me as lately I've been dealing with a few things so it is just nice to get support in this series 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!  
> Be prepared for some angst...sorry for the overwhelming feels ...still unsure whether or not to include the Batfam in this series. Just let me know if I should or not! Thanks :D x

Jason is tied to a chair, arms over the back of it and wrists secured to a lower wrung, weights secured to the back of the chair while his feet are tied tightly together, allowing no blood to flow with ease, and all Bruce can do is stand watching.“Hello? Is there someone there?”

“Jason. I thought you were dead” Bruce can only mouth as he tries to step forward but he can’t do anything. He can only watch in horror.

“Batman? Is that you?”

Out of the darkness steps forward the pale faced green haired foe. 

“Batman’s not coming to save you Jason.”

The bag is thrown off to reveal a battered and bruised Jason who can only splutter through the pain. “He’ll come.”

“It’s been six months now Jason. I think it’s time to face facts."

“Screw you” Jason spits at him.

“That’s the spirit. You’re a real chip off the ol’ Bat block. Not that it’ll do any good.”

“Why won’t you just kill me?”

Now the joker turns back, his slouched posture immediately straightening. “What? No, no, no, no. I’m not going to kill you, not yet anyway. You’re my sidekick now”

He now crouches down, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder, stretching out his other hand to add a sensational impact to his words.” Imagine it. You and me, out on the streets starting fights, picking on the weak, a regular dynamic duo. Just like Bats and the new kid of his.”

He suddenly reaches his slender fingers into his coat pocket.

“No he wouldn’t.” An exasperated Jason gasp, nothing realising the large breathe he lets out. A breath he saved to stay human. A breath he saved once batman came.

“You think? So this isn’t Batman then” He stretches over Jason, showing the small printed photo. “Weird. The point ears are usually a dead giveaway.”

Jason bends forward, half whispering to himself as his voice cracks. “No!” He didn’t want it to be real. He didn’t.

“I didn’t want to show you that photo, really I didn’t. But, well it was the only way for you to get closure.” He pats Jason’s arms before striding away. “Now I know it hurts but sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind.”

In his movement towards the light, a sharp object glints from the Joker’s hand which show appears to be a crowbar.

Jason doesn’t have time to react the way he should. He just lets out another breath and tries to move his tied hands and feet, only to feel the force of the crowbar while the crackle of the Joker’s laugh floods his mind.

Bruce wakes up with a scream in his throat and burning red shot eyes as he scrambles for any kind of recollection of sanity. And that’s when his thoughts erupt forcefully, fully waking up his cognitive mind. 

It was a nightmare. He just had a nightmare. 

He wasn’t there. He is in bed, wrapped up in his Egyptian cotton sheets. Yet despite this fact, Bruce could never bring himself to believe that everything was alright.

He can still smell the smoke and taste the metallic residue that occupied the inside of his cracked lips as he drove

He had felt all this ache and pain before, had felt the same heart stopping panic and fear as he tried again and again to get there just in time- but he knows he can never change the outcome, even if it plagues his every thought and action.

Outside it is still and quiet while the night draws to a close as the sun starts to rise slowly, it’s hesitant haze of auburn fusing with the mauve and charcoal clouds. 

Slowly and steadily, Bruce manages to get up and walk out towards the glass window view. The placid water calms him as he stares out, admiring the sweet simplicity.

Sometimes he wishes he could just stare out at his view all day, and there are other times when he wishes he could only see darkness. That’s the thing with Bruce- he never knew what he wanted. He just didn’t know how to feel or how to act anymore. Everything he ever had been taken away and he just didn’t use what else to feel.

Yet standing here looking out at the view the glass house gave him, he couldn't help but think of her.

She is a fiery one, he must admit. Never did he see someone who never came from the rough crowd to ever be so sincere and forceful like her as she demands her way to get what she wanted. But that perk made her stand out amongst the rest. Bruce needed someone like her to confront his inner demons, someone he could depend on without feeling the urge of letting everything collapse right in front of him.

There are times where he imagines Jason’s last moment and how the Joker’s inflicting pain must have made everything else feel minor as he waited for a sign that he was coming. Yet Bruce didn't make it, and that’s what kills him the most. He never got to be the man Jason needed. He wasn’t Batman that night- he was a coward who couldn’t even do his one job. 

And that’s what eats him up every single night.

He doesn't know if he’ll ever sleep soundly again.

* * * *

 

You rush into the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee before you head off to work accordingly.

“Care to explain the spare pillows and sheets on the couch?”

You jump, startled to find your roommate Gail Hogan, standing with arms folded while her untameable frizzy silver hair hangs down past her shoulders.

“Gail- I thought you wouldn’t be back until next week!”

She stares down at her fingernails and pouts, “Well I had fun in New York discovering my boyfriend had found someone new- a blonde bimbo to be exact...”

“Oh Gail.” You sigh, walking over to hug your companion.

“It’s fine really, it’s not a problem.” She acts cool and calm, before she unleashed her full wrath.

“I just happened to prepare him a nice meal, even scatter a few rose petals around his apartment and hid in his closet wearing only black panties and bra only to discover him walk in with her, fucking her brains out on the kitchen counter. Once I walked in, I grabbed the frying pan and ordered her to leave. Turns out the tables had turned. She was with him for four years- four bloody years while he was teaching creative writing. After all those times I was there, I mean he brought me to his office for glorious sex. I thought I was special, you know? So I told him to shove his poetry up his ass and I grabbed the expensive bottle of wine and left, still in my underwear.”

She doesn’t even bat an eyelash as she continues. “You could imagine my embarrassment disturbing their 50 shades of grey moment by going back in to get my clothes. And get this- she had already moved into his apartment! She’s a teenager compared to him!”

She is about to continue before you fret, “Come on, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

She shakes her head. “God no, I need something stronger.”

Immediately you turn to the fridge and throw Gail a refreshingly cold bottle of beer. 

“Wow. What happened to you to turn yourself into a woman who would let me drink beer before 9:00am?”

You simply shrug. “I have my moments.”

Gail steps towards your table and sets her feet up on a spare chair. “So come on Y/N, tell me what I missed the past three weeks?” She takes a long sip from the bottle 

“Nothing really.” You simply blush, unsure what to tell Gail. You’ve known her since your crazy wild college days as she dragged you to various frat parties just to score a wild one night stand. Perhaps she would be proud if you told her…

“Oh come on Y/N. There must be something. How’s work? Any more gossips on Clark and Lois? Did you catch them doing their dirty work?” She winks and takes off her leather jacket, flinging it on the ground.

“And what about the spare bed arrangements, eh?” She glances to the door. “Did you invite Jimmy over for a sleepover?”

“God Gail, would you keep it down?! The neighbours will hear you!”

“Maybe they would like to hear this fascinating story”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh please Gail, stop interrogating me!”

Now she perks up. “So there is something you’re hiding!” 

“No,” you protest. “There isn’t anything to hide! I just had three mundane weeks of sweet simplicity.”

“Oh now stop with the big words Y/N, honestly honey, you will never find a man who will appreciate your words. They should appreciate your wide vagina, not your wide vocabulary.”

You can’t even react to her words as your phone beeps at the wrong time.

You scramble to retrieve it, while Gail, always being one to invade your privacy, reaches over across the table to grab your phone. 

She snatches it before you can even touch the table. She unlocks your phone, and instantly her eyes widen.

“‘I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night- B x’ “

Her jaw drops and she now invades your other text conversation with Bruce, reading aloud every single saucy detail. You cringe and it isn’t long before you have to slide tackle her to grab the phone off her as she reads the messages that should remain only for your viewing.

Once you finally get it from her grasp, you switch it off and place it in your dressing gown pocket. 

Gail sluggishly gets up and grins, “So, who’s the mysterious B, eh? Is he Mr.Darcy but more brutal?”

“Shut up Gail! You know I can’t stand it when you invade my privacy.”

“But this is different, I didn’t intend to snoop, it just happened on the spur of the moment.” 

There is a moment of silence before she speaks again. “So, who is it? I’ll sit here all day if I have to until you eventually spit it out.” 

“You can sit there all you want. I have to get ready for work-”

“Whoa there, you have to tell me. I’m your best friend, hence I am entitled to know who this mysterious B is.”

“No Gail. Now isn’t a good time, I can’t be late for work. Can I please go to get dressed-?”

Now she blocks the doorway and stretches out her arms and legs.

“Is it a Barry? A Ben? Oh imagine if it’s a Bill? Is it the guy named Billy who lives in apartment 59, the guy who has the scar?”

“Get out of my way Gail.” You snarl, trying to move her legs. But they do not budge as she continues to guess names beginning with B.

“Benjamin? Brian? Brad? Perhaps even Brendan? Or what if it’s a surname?”

Then she stops. “Y/N, are you gay?”

“No Gail. Of course not! I didn’t change my sexuality overnight!”

“Then just tell me who it is- even his first name.” She whines and that’s when you give in.

“Okay. Fine.” 

You lower your voice to a mere whisper. “It’s Bruce.”

“Wait could you speak up, I didn't hear you.” She acts giddy, placing her hand up to her ear.

You still stare down at your pink fluffy socks to avoid her taunting gaze.

“It’s Bruce.”

Somehow you feel good telling someone openly rather than someone finding out by him invading your office. Besides, Gail won’t know who exactly it is. She can name all members of One Direction, sure, but she doesn’t know any local rich millionaires who haven’t release catchy tunes. 

But it seems after a few silent seconds once she gathers her thoughts does she realise. “Holy fuck, you cannot be serious. It’s not him, surely, out of all people, it’s not him.”

She registers your fixed gaze. “Holy shit you fucked Bruce Wayne!”

You now muffle her mouth. “Be quiet!”

“Y/N! When did this happen?”

You can’t help but look away, while intertwining your fingers around the thin rope around your dressing gown. “I had to attend a gala and interview celebrities and he just happened to be one of the few I had to interview.” 

“So what? You interviewed him and magically had sex? ”

Now you blush, actually glad Gail seems intrigued because usually whenever you have a date, she never seems this interested, only asking if he had nice benefits that she could borrow if she ever needed it.

“No, actually, we sneaked away to a fancy restaurant and he then led me to his place and we just hit it off.”

“How many times?” She now leans against the doorframe.

“Excuse me?”

“How many other times?”

“Honestly, does it matter?”

“Yes it does.” She says matter-of-factly.

“Fine. Four times.”

“Shut up.” She stares gobsmacked.

Now she glides towards their small sitting room and grabs one of the pillows. “Bruce Wayne’s head was on this pillow?”

“Yes...”

“So you had sex on our couch?”

“No,” you say firmly. “It was late. We had a fight, so he slept on the couch.”

“So no sex then?” She tilts her head to the side, still holding on tightly to the pillow.

“Well the next morning he stood in our kitchen naked...and then he intruded my private shower…”

She now mockingly gags and covers her hands over her face. “Please stop. I don’t want that thought in my head.”

“Well you asked for it!” 

“Never in my life do I want to hear your sex life in that detail, especially if it's with Bruce Wayne. And I can’t believe he used my shower, out of all people!”

* * * *

The office is busy, way too busy for a Friday. Especially this Friday.

You keep on staring up at the clock, hoping it would magically change to half seven. You never wanted the time to go by as quickly as today. You’ve been waiting for this night more than anything else. You wouldn’t be this excited if it wasn’t for Gail’s persistent pestering for you to try on some dresses for her.

Her commentary consisted of, “You look like my old grandma whose fashion taste is so much better, and she’s blind,”, “Wow I bet Bruce would like that if he had a fetish for old ladies,” to “Okay your butt does look great but come on, you don’t want to be that desperate.”

Nothing suited Gail. Usually her fashion taste consisted of skimpy dresses to leather jackets and boots, while you liked to look chic and classy. At times you felt odd taking in Gail’s criticism but it was better than nothing. You did want to impress Bruce so maybe she did help, in some ways.

In the end you decided for something that both suited you and her. It was actually a last resort, the dress you wore for your brother’s wedding that you never wore again.

Now as you finish typing up questions for your latest interviewee, an old lady who was caught up in the last bank hostage situation that happened two weeks again, you notice a glare from the side of your view. You don’t pay any attention, as you want to perfect your wording. In the end, you shouldn’t even be doing to, but after pleading with Perry, he allowed you to continue on with the class.

You believe the infamous gang, who technically were a bunch of teenager street criminals, had a bigger part to play. The police found blood splatters on the barrister of the stairs leading up to the bank’s sacred records.

Yet they didn’t even touch the records, there were no fingerprints. They didn’t even touch any money. It seemed in their robbery they didn’t even steal anything, yet Batman came and retrieved the goods, $1,000,000 to be exact. So if they didn’t steal any money from the bank; where did they get the money?

As you walk over to the printing room, pondering over your questions, wondering if they are too risky to ask a frail woman in her 70’s, a sight catches your attention. Clark Kent stands right in front of you with a relentless looking glare.

“Yes Clark?” You glance up, trying to act busy while waiting for your photocopies.

“Oh I just came over to ask how are you?” He asks so smoothly, it isn’t hard to resist his clear calming voice as he looks down at you.

“I’m good Clark,” you try to act rather perturbed by his sudden questioning.

“Oh well, you do look pretty today.”

Now you stare up. “Really Clark? You’re hitting on me when you already have a woman?”

He is taken aback, unsure what to say. “No- I was just saying you look nice, which is strange, for you, I mean in this office, for someone to be all dressed up for no one else.”

You know he is flustered as the words fall out of his tongue. “Please Clark, I admire your lovely words but please I have work to finish.”

You gather your photocopies before Clark speaks again. “What I’m trying to say Y/N is that I hope you’re not dressed up for him.”

Now you stop and slowly compose yourself. “What exactly do you mean?”

He swallows a lump in his throat before finishing. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble, that’s all.”

“Really Clark?! Please stop invading my personal life, I can see who I want to see-“

You get up and try to make your way towards the bathroom before you suddenly feel his grip on your arm. It isn’t too tight nor it isn’t gentle either. It’s a mixture of perhaps his concerning and threatening ways intertwined into one.

“Please Y/N. I know Bruce Wayne. He is not who he says he is. You need to stop this now, otherwise it will end badly.”

You reply quietly through gritted teeth. “Get your hand off of me Clark.”

He doesn’t oblige, still holding on, continuing his testament.

“You’re going to get hurt Y/N and in ways that even I won’t be able to help you. You need to stop this before it gets out of hand. Just please don’t go tonight, it will end badly. Just go home and tell him it’s over. Don’t ever see him again. You don’t deserve him and the trouble that surrounds him.”

Once he lets go of his grip, you can’t help but snarl, “Go to hell Clark Kent,” before walking away to the bathroom so he can’t see the tears streaming down your face.

 

It takes, what seems like half an hour, before you emerge from the toilet cubicle. After redoing your makeup, this time with a cranberry red lipstick and a light smoky eyes, you stride out to the office to retrieve your gym bag, only to stare up at the clock. It was already quarter to eight.

Of course, you swear loudly, unaware that Clark is at his desk typing. But it is his fault anyways, so you proceed to rush to your desk, grab your gym bag and notebook with your questions for the witness and go to the elevator. Pressing the ground floor button frantically, you question whether the taxi driver would allow you to change in the car.

Once outside, you whistle for a taxi and immediately a older man who has a cigarette in his mouth pulls in. 

“To the Gotham South Restaurant please” you say while you hope into the car. The man smugly eyes your attire “You do know that place is quite expensive, they even charge you for setting the bread sticks.”

“That’s great.” You don’t need this man's commentary. You’re already late. What would Bruce say when he notices you’re bit on time? 

“Hey sir, is it alright if I just put on a change of clothing?”

“Lady this isn’t a driving wardrobe-”

“I’ll pay an extra $50”

He keeps quiet then as you pass the money to him and the gun begins as you strip off your white shirt and skirt while trying not to kick the back of jis head.

Once you are undressed, you notice his glance and he whistles.  
“Wow this guy must be a lucky fella,” you know what he means as you stare down at your black laced undergarments. 

“Hey, shut up!” You demand as you pull the dress over your head. 

Once it is down over your head, you breath a sigh of relief while strapping on your black heels. After you check your makeup again, the taxi driver pulls up to the glamorous restaurant that you remember last time.

“Thank you so much,” you hand him over the fare and step out. 

“Ow miss!” He shouts at you. You turn to see him grin. “You may want to zip up the back. Your bra is showing.”

 

When you make it to the restaurant, you stand, relieved to know that it is only 8:03, and you aren’t as late as you thought.

Stepping up to the man who stands at a desk, the same tall man who got flustered over Bruce’s sudden appearance.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Reservation for Bruce Wayne please.” You smile. He glances over and stares down at his book. 

“Oh yes!” He says. “I thought you both had cancelled.”

Cancelled? You can only ignore his last comment as he leads you to your table. Other couples sip cooly from tall champagne glasses and eat luxurious dishes as you walk by. 

You hope Bruce is not mad with you. You can mention Clark Kent for starters to emotionality threatening you. But maybe he’ll be glad just to see you at last and you wonder what he’ll think of your attire.

So many thoughts spin around your head as the man leads you to a elegantly prepped dinner table with a bottle of champagne placed in the centre while matching candles stand at both sides, along with a dozen rose.

You stare breathless, overwhelmed that Bruce was capable of such beauty. You can’t stop smiling, your dimples showing as you step closer. But soon the smile slips away.

Bruce Wayne is not there.

“Here you go madam.” The man pulls out a chair. 

Frantically you can’t help but ask, “So is Mr.Wayne here?”

The man looks confused with knitted eyebrows. “I’m sorry m’am, I believe he hasn’t been here.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh. Thank you.” Is all you can say. Prepares he’s running late or had a surprise business meeting. Who knows at this point.

The waiter leaves you be as you sit with the complimentary bread sticks as you start to munch, unable to express how much these things will ruin your diet.

Hours pass and different waiters and waitresses pass asking if I would like to order for both of you. You always decline, yet always asking for more bread sticks. You text Bruce and ring him countless of times, yet there is no reply. It is only when it is 10 o’clock do you decide enough is enough as you step up to pay for the 10 rounds of bread sticks. In the end, you also have to pay for the champagne that you drank, which leaves you pocketing out $70 dollars.

Embarrassed, you only apologise more and more as you step out of the restaurant. But it is only when you realise you were relying on bruce for a lift home do you start to get mad. 

How could he? He was looking forward to this night more than anything, yet he decides not to turn up. Maybe he got distracted by his darling receptionist and had a bit of fun with her, completely oblivious to the fact you were waiting for him.

 

Maybe it’s the champagne talking, but you dial his number again. Once the dial tone of leaving a message plays, you bite down on your lip so hard it almost starts to bleed. 

'Please leave a message after the beep.’ 

“Hey Brucie, I hope you’re having fun fucking the life out of your next playboy bunny. You left me alone to champagne and breadsticks, for the love of god you son of a bitch just ruined my diet! Well here’s a good ol’ fuck you for ruining my life you big rich bas-” 

Suddenly your phone dies and your slurred speech is left unfinished. You scream, so annoyed that playing angry birds had to waste your fully charged phone battery. 

Now you were left alone, outside a fancy restaurant with no way of going home. You could get a taxi, except you spent all your money. Your only option now was to walk home and cry with Gail as you eat Ben and Jerry’s.

You start to make your way, but start to feel conflicted already. Should you turn left or right? What turn did you take in the taxi?

God if only you were actually concentrating on the way rather than trying to squeeze into your cocktail dress.

Unsure what your clouded head is telling you, you decide to simply turn left and hope for the best. Now you wish you had brought a jacket with you as the bitter cold crawls on your delicate skin. 

Shivering, you walk with a stride. You are never afraid if walking home alone in the night. You often do it after work. You enjoy noticing the traffic and the tourists, but now none if that was here. You were stranded at a posh restaurant in the middle of nowhere.

 

The alleyway is darkness and the sour relics of a hundred take-away meals. As you walk between the walls that are too high for you to bother seeking the almost black sky, you kick the garbage with each stride. 

 

You walked along the rough cobbled streets that cause your feet to ache. The buildings are tight together and loom over you, like a forest of stone. When you look up the roofs are so close together that you can only make out a sliver of the blue sky that is mirrored by the tiny stream of light that trickles along the cold stone ground. The alleyway twists and turns back on itself, first going to the right, then to the left. 

“Oh shit.” You panic. This is not the right way at all. From where you stand, whether you look in front or behind, you see nothing but stone.

You are so distracted by your sense of lost direction that you do not hear the footsteps behind you. You don’t have any tine to register what is happening as the person packs a punch and covers their large hand over your lips.

You try to scream, yet your muffled screams do nothing as the intruder kicks you forcefully in the stomach. They then throw you against the wall, leaving your head to face the impact of the forceful throw. You let out another scream, before the figure steps forward.

What seems like a tall man steps forward and places his large boot on your neck, causing you to feel trapped as you gag for breaths. 

“Shut up!” The man hisses as tears sprout from your eyes as you stare up. Your heart pounded forcefully as you dared to not let the tall man enforce more pain.

“Please..” you choke out as you tremble but before you know it, you feel the force of a punch across the head as you instantly blackout.


End file.
